


Walk You Home

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort, Happy Ending, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Hurt, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sex, Vulnerable Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 14:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: It was so rare he had to shove aside his insecurities, his sarcasm, his general demonic attitude towards everything to comfort Aziraphale.  He had absolutely no idea how to counter the angel’s current assertions without possibly making a mess of everything the currently vulnerable Aziraphale stood for.When Aziraphale is attacked, it is up to Crowley to try to restore his faith that there is still love and goodness in the world.





	Walk You Home

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags say, there's a bit of homophobia and I touch a bit on LBGT+/non-heteronormative issues. Enjoy!

Crowley’s senses went into high alert a moment before the cry for help was desperately screamed into his head.  Instantly sober, he was out the back door into the alley before the glass he negligently dropped into thin air rather than the pub’s table hit the floor. 

Fuck decorum.  The wings came out and he was in the air streaking towards the distress call like some kind of dark avenging angel.  It wasn’t like he couldn’t make himself unnoticed to the human population moving about below in the darkening evening sky.  There would be no headlines in tomorrow’s less trustworthy papers about guardian angels flying above London.

The distress call was easy to sniff out, located in an alley where from above he saw four people, three fencing in the fourth, preventing them from escaping the torture they were visiting upon them.  And it wasn’t just anyone they had decided to physically pick on.  They, unfortunately for them, had chosen _his_ angel.  Already battered and blood-stained, Aziraphale was still being beaten mercilessly by three extremely drunk men as he crouched trying to protect his injured head from further attack.  He could usually use his enhanced powers of angelic persuasion to keep himself out of harm’s way, but these lowlifes must have been too inebriated for that to work.  Plus Aziraphale never got physical, unless he was sent on mission into a war, even when his own safety was compromised.  Right now, he was the perfect target for their rage.

Crowley’s wrath shook the ground as he landed.  The three men paused in their activities, pondering what could cause the pavement to vibrate angrily. 

“Hi,” he said in an almost causal, cheerful tone.  “What’cha up to?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business there, ginger,” replied one of them as he aimed a kick at the now-prone Aziraphale.  Crowley made sure it missed.  Another had abandoned his post to advance menacingly towards the demon.

_Ok, standard cliché tough guy reply.   Thanks for confirming you’re humans I won’t feel bad about taking out._

He stepped more into the alley, the light off the street illuminating him in silhouette; every part of him, including the inhuman ones, visible.

“Are those _wings_?” the one attempting to menace Crowley slurred, unsure if the amount of liquor he’d consumed was affecting his ability to perceive reality correctly.

Crowley had edged more towards demonic.  The wings growing out of his back had taken on more of a bat-like appearance, black skin stretched across them, the two claws sitting on top of the carpals sharp in the light filtering in from the street.  Cat-like talons grew in place of his regular human fingernails, appearing lethally pointed in the dim light.  Even a couple locks of that flaming red hair curled upwards in imitation of devil’s horns.  He smiled as he ran his forked tongue across a set of very jagged-looking teeth.

“Dunno.”  The sunglasses disappeared from his face, revealing a dangerous look in those snake-like eyes.  “Do they look like wings?”

They didn’t stand a chance as Crowley beat them without a shred of mercy in a rare abandonment of his own moral code.  Quite a bit of their blood had been spilled before Aziraphale’s voice cut through his rage begging him to lay off of them before he inadvertently killed someone.  Crowley stopped the revenge short as Aziraphale’s tentative touch on his shoulder pulled him out of his frenzy.  Once again he was just plain, old Crowley, mostly human-looking and very concerned, as he stood there before his wounded lover, hugging him gently against his chest.  Three unmoving, yet still breathing human bodies littered the area around the two.  Those men were alive, but they would be regretting it when they awoke to their severe injuries. 

No police would be summoned.  How do you explain that you were attacked by an inhuman-looking _thing_ that resembled some creature straight from Hell, wings, claws and all?  That disturbing secret went with all three of them to the grave.  Questions about the ugly scars Crowley’s claws gifted them were hand waved or answered with a less interesting lie and the dark held fear for them for a very long time.

“How hurt are you?”  Crowley placed his slim hands on Aziraphale’s temples to read for injuries and rattled them off as he did so.  “Cuts, bruises, cracked ribs, concussion, fractured wrist, a couple of dislocated finger joints, a bruised kidney.  I should make their lives that much more miserable after what they did to you.”

“No.  Please, Crowley.  Let’s just go home.  Let them go.  I’ve blocked the pain enough I can fly back.”

Invisible, they soared back to Crowley’s flat, which Crowley stubbornly would not part with after moving to the cottage in the South Downs, but it proved useful on more than one occasion when they had business in London.  They entered through the balcony and Crowley guided the shaken angel to the kitchen where he could work on him.  A concentrated thought brought the Bentley back to its parking space so he wouldn’t have to leave Aziraphale.  If a couple of intoxicated humans saw it disappear, it wouldn’t matter.  They would either chalk it up to their night out drinking or not even remember it in the morning.

Drawing deep on his own power, he relaxed and slowly began to pour energy into Aziraphale, using his mind’s eye to locate every hurt then heal it.  Blank-eyed and unresponsive, Aziraphale quietly let him minister to him, nearing breaking Crowley’s heart.  He smoothed out the angel’s hair, pushing if off his forehead.

“I’m so sorry, angel,” he said guiltily, enveloping his love in his arms.  “I shouldn’t have agreed to meet that fake in that pub.  I should have known he wasn’t really summoning hellhounds.  I should have been with you.  Why did they pick on you?”

A shocked Aziraphale revived enough to give him a brief, numb, scattershot account of being accosted while picking up some supplies for the flat by three extremely drunk men for not acting the way they felt a man should – his dress, his mannerisms, and his voice all screamed gay to those cretins.  Crowley seethed as the unemotional words tumbled out of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Fucking homophobes,” he bit out grimly, for once happy that a few more souls would eventually find their way to Hell.  “In this day and age, humans still can’t figure out that whole live and let live thing.  C’mon.  Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He led Aziraphale to the bathroom where he sponged the blood off of his face and hands with a warm, wet cloth.  The clots matted in that blond hair were going to take more effort to clean up.  Crowley looked into those haunted blue eyes, wishing to make it all better.  It wasn’t the first time in their long association that he had seen such a look on Aziraphale’s face after he had gone through some serious trauma.  It always eventually passed because being immortal meant learning to cope with the constant string of pain and hardships, or quickly going insane.  But it became harder for Crowley to experience it as he grew closer to the angel.

“Want me to wish the rest of it away or would you rather take a shower?”

“I’d rather have a shower.  Will you join me?  I just can’t do this alone right now.”

Crowley smiled.  “Let’s rinse the blood out of your hair and I’ll do you one better.”

He gently soaped Aziraphale’s curly hair, massaging every bit of evidence of the attack down the drain and good riddance.  Afterwards, he guided Aziraphale out on to the rug in front of the sink, covering him in a fluffy towel.

With a wave of his hand, Crowley’s sophisticated shower disappeared to be replaced by a sophisticated tub large enough for two that shouldn’t have been able to fit in the small area reserved for the shower that had previously sat there.  Hot bubbly water was already filling it, the sweet vanilla scent of Aziraphale’s favourite body wash wafting out into the room.

Crowley, ignoring the fact he wasn’t as big of a fan of bubbly, scented baths as Aziraphale, got in then beckoned to the angel to sit in front of him.  Shakily, Aziraphale climbed into the tub.  He cuddled up close to him, head resting against Crowley’s chest, the demon placing gentle kisses on the top of his head while inhaling the scent of those sweet, damp, honey-and-almond scented curls.  Aziraphale exhaled, putting his hands on top of Crowley’s then turning his head to kiss Crowley’s jawline.

“What would I do without you?  You’re the only good thing anymore.”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably.  It was so rare he had to shove aside his insecurities, his sarcasm, his general demonic attitude towards everything to comfort Aziraphale.  He had absolutely no idea how to counter the angel’s current assertions without possibly making a mess of everything the currently vulnerable Aziraphale stood for.

“It’ll get better,” he said lamely.  “It always does.”

Luckily for him, Aziraphale didn’t argue that point; Crowley had run of out material.  They cuddled in silence for time immeasurable before Crowley spoke again.

“I’m sorry.  I should have been there to walk you home.”  His guilt mixed with the wish that Aziraphale wouldn’t take the teaching of “turn the other cheek” quite so seriously.  Neither was at all comforting.

“Things used to be simpler.  Better,” murmured Aziraphale.

“Nuh,” replied Crowley.  “They were just different.  Let’s get out before the water gets any colder.  I’ll make you some dinner if you feel like eating.”

He spent quite a bit of time toweling Aziraphale dry by hand as some kind of penance for allowing this to happen to his angel.

 

~*~*~

 

Crowley awoke in the middle of the night to find the other side of the bed empty and cold.  Wishing on some boxers, he slid out of bed and padded on bare feet silently down the stairs into the lounge where the balcony door stood open, the nighttime sounds of the city coming through the door.  Purest white feathers blew softly in the slight breeze, dancing against the darkness of the night.  It was rare for Aziraphale to just have his wings manifested like that.

“Come back in, angel.  Someone’s going to see you.”

“I’m shielded.  I just had to come look for the good.  Right now all I can see is what’s wrong with the world.  Humans with different sexualities can’t walk down the street without risking life and limb because of people like I encountered tonight.”  He looked back at Crowley, worry reflected deep in those sky blue eyes.  “I won’t get killed no matter how hard they beat me.  I can heal.  Humans who are seen as different  .  .  .  Well, they don’t always heal properly and sometimes they don’t survive.  There wasn’t an Apocalypse but sometimes it feels like Hell won.”

Crowley stepped out on to the balcony, gave Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek and started to stroke those snow white feathers, carefully grooming them back into shape.  Aziraphale let out a relaxed sigh at the intimate touch. 

“No.  Hell hasn’t won, thank . . . someone.  Everything ebbs and flows, angel.  We’ve been around long enough to know that.”  He paused a moment.  “We fight for them.  We always have.  How many times did you hide gays in your bookshop when being homosexual was illegal?  How many times did I lead the police on wild chases to throw them off the scent?  Lately how often have we protected members of the community with the backlash going on politically?”

Aziraphale easily justified his protection of the non-heteronormative population with Heaven by counting it among his good deeds.  Nobody up there cared about anyone’s sexuality so it wasn’t an issue.  Crowley justified it with Hell because it was acting subversive against those religions who opposed anything other than a heterosexual relationship.  It was a one of the rare cases of win-win for both of them without having to carefully balance deeds out.  Little was either side aware that the entire issue was more personal than that with their field agents; both were just pleased their agent was sticking it to the other one. 

Crowley carefully pulled out a couple of ragged flight feathers, stroking his long fingers over the gaps to encourage growth of new ones with his ability to heal.  In an hour or so, Aziraphale would have brand new primaries replacing the ones plucked.  The demon changed the culled celestial feathers to common pigeon ones before releasing them into the wind.  Maybe Aziraphale’s goodness lived residually in them and would spread over the city.

He turned to leave.  “I’m going to go make us some tea.  It’s a bit cold out here.”

Aziraphale turned a hurt, pleading look towards him.  “Stay with me?  I can’t keep the bad thoughts at bay.  How they treat each other sometimes.”   

Instead, Crowley made tea the easy way, handing Aziraphale a steaming mug created out of thin air.  “Of course I will.”

The angel tucked his wings away, putting his plump arm around Crowley’s back and laying his head on his shoulder.  Crowley wrapped his arm lovingly around him in return, delighting in the feel of his angel’s warm body.  They stood there in silence overlooking the never-quiet city while sipping their tea.  Eventually Crowley vanished the empty mugs so he could lead Aziraphale back in.

“C’mon.  It’s time for bed.  We don’t have to sleep.  Are you up for something?  Cuddling?  Maybe more?”

“You lecherous serpent, you,” replied Aziraphale, his face breaking into the first smile Crowley had seen since they left the flat yesterday morning to do their respective errands.

Less than five minutes later, they had collapsed on Crowley’s expensive sheets kissing fervently, the demon’s talented tongue slipping into the angel’s waiting mouth a bit more tentatively this time rather than with the eager passion he usually displayed when they made love.  Crowley was deferring to Aziraphale’s fragile state of mind, not wanting to be too forward or rough with the angel.  That his offer was actually taken up by Aziraphale was testament to the fact he needed the touch, the reassurance, the momentary diversion from yesterday’s events before they ate at him even more. 

The demon let out a moan, his hands caressing the angel’s hair as Aziraphale paid very close attention to certain parts of his body.  The warm wetness of Aziraphale’s mouth was a pleasure he could have never fathomed before they become intimate even though he had known the carnal pleasures of being in a human body long before.  Looking with a quirked eyebrow at him over his own stomach, he sought permission to move before rocking his hips.  Normally he would have just started thrusting anyway, but now was the time to be gentle.  Aziraphale was leading this dance.  He received affirmation and kept his movements tender, just enough to enhance both their pleasure while Aziraphale worked him up more than he already was. 

Crowley’s fingers curled possessively in Aziraphale’s hair to stay until the angel finally pulled off and placed a few more kisses on the tip of his erection before intermittently dispersing them around his hips and bellybutton. 

“Ever wonder why we have those?” he asked Aziraphale between moans.

“Probably so we don’t look weird.”  Aziraphale was working on his nipples now, making Crowley squirm in delight.  He was leaving scratches on Aziraphale’s back in response, an action the angel fully enjoyed.  His long fingers traced sensuous circles over his lover’s smooth skin when passion wasn’t causing him to involuntarily dig his nails in.

“Who sees our stomachs?” gasped Crowley as Aziraphale stopped his caresses to give him an amused look.

“I’m looking at yours right now,” he murmured.  “You are so beautiful, you know that?”

The angel nipped his way up the demon’s body until he reached his mouth.  Crowley found himself unable to answer as Aziraphale fastened his lips hard against his mouth, tongue getting inquisitive, catching a bit on sharp canines Crowley had failed to return completely to normal after yesterday’s encounter.  He quickly rectified that as he felt a hand wander downwards, fingers tracing sumptuous paths across his skin until they reached the hardness below that useless bellybutton and rubbed the tip of it gently.  Crowley tried to grasp Aziraphale’s in return only to be denied.

“I want to be inside of you.  I need that, my dear.”

Crowley understood that.  Right now Aziraphale needed to be the one in control.  To call the shots.  To have his faith that there still was love in this world restored and that love started with his demon.  Love was still a hard thing to express for Crowley, who was showing him that the only way he knew how – physical affection.  Empathy was a sense he was developing since he and Aziraphale had taken their relationship to the next level, but he still was struggling with working it all out.  One day he’d get there, he thought, and be able to vocally and through non-sexual actions show his angel just how much he adored him.  It never crossed his mind that his fierce protection and tender care of Aziraphale since the incident were means of showing his deep, loving devotion to him.

Then all coherent thought slipped away as Aziraphale slid inside of him and shared with him one of the most enjoyable aspects of being in love with someone.  The demon wrapped his legs around the angel’s hips, moving in time with his thrusts, hoping Aziraphale was aware of just how much he loved him even if he wasn’t always capable of showing it.

They loved until they physically had nothing left to give, wings unfurling at the last moment, the only indication that they were not of this world despite enjoying and despairing of all it had to give.

The mess was vanished away and they lay in a tangle of limbs, wings and satin bedcovers the night air cool on their bare skin.  Soft, golden curls tickled Crowley’s chest as a contented Aziraphale shifted slightly to wind his leg around his lover’s.  Crowley indolently twined a lock of that soft, blond hair around one finger enjoying the silky feel of it.  Smiling up at him, Aziraphale brushed a stray red piece of Crowley’s out of his serpentine eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For being there.”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond to that.  He just smiled in return, giving Aziraphale a loving kiss.

 

~*~*~

 

“That’s very sweet, my dear, but I’ll be fine.  I don’t need you to escort me all over the place,” said Aziraphale the next morning as he tucked in some toast at breakfast.  “I’m fine.  This was nothing, really.  There’s little I’ve not been through in all my years on Earth.  How many times have I been wounded or discorporated during war?  Been caught up in the worst natural disasters in human history?  Man-made disasters?  Remember how we got arrested in Paris during the Reign of Terror?  I ended up guillotined.  This was nothing.  My skin’s thicker than that when it comes to myself.  I’ve just discovered it’s not quite so thick then it comes to what humans do to each other as I thought it was.  I’ll just have to come to terms with that.” 

“You could have gotten out of being guillotined, you know,” Crowley replied as he stirred sugar into his second cup of tea.  The demon had changed himself into just another prison-dwelling rat, scurrying out with the rest of the rodents populating the cells.  Nobody looked closely enough at the vermin to notice one of them had yellow eyes.

“It wouldn’t have been proper,” replied Aziraphale, who at the time refused to budge from his cell despite Crowley’s encouragement to take a different form and leave.

“Screw proper.  I was more interested in not explaining to Down There why I lost yet another body when I could have easily gotten out of the situation.  You know how stingy they are.  I wasn’t about to spend fifty years Downstairs because some petty bureaucrat wanted to punish me by making me wait for a new one.”

Crowley reached for a piece of toast before Aziraphale ate it all. 

“I’m still coming with you,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs.  “It’s not like I have any pressing matters until I have a chance to report my findings.  I’ll do a bit of the usual tempting later.  Have to keep up appearances since they’re convinced I still live here.”

“But I want to check on the books I have stored in the bookshop.  You do get so bored when I’m cataloguing.”

“I’ll nap or mess around with my mobile or maybe I’ll actually try to have a conversation with you as impossible as that is when you have your head in your book collection.  You’re not getting rid of me.”

Aziraphale resigned himself to his fate and an hour later, Crowley had driven them both to the bookshop so the angel could look over the parts of his collection he had had to leave behind.  Occasionally he changed out books, bringing ones he had read several times back and taking new ones home to the cottage with him.  Crowley complained about having to fill up the Bentley with boxes of them, but Aziraphale knew he really didn’t mind that much.

They only stayed an hour and as an added bonus, Aziraphale only choose one box of books to take back home with him.  Crowley asked him if he was feeling well, then immediately regretted it in light of recent events.

“Don’t worry about it, my dear,” Aziraphale said as he left the box by the door for them to collect when they left.  “Let’s walk instead of driving.  I doubt anyone’s going to bother me today with you around.”

Crowley might have been a tall, skinny demon, but his aura made humans uncomfortable when he wanted it to, despite the fact they could not see it.  He reflected smugly on the fact it was a very useful feature at times.  They would be left alone for as long as he wanted them to be left alone. 

Since they were going to be staying at the flat for at least a couple weeks they did quite a bit of shopping for supplies.  Neither felt much like taking meals out lately.  Maybe their quiet country life was starting to catch up with them.  Maybe they were just more interested in enjoying time together alone without interruptions from wait staff.  Either way, they were determined to spend as much time holed up in that flat as their jobs would allow them.  Aziraphale occasionally banished their purchases back to the flat when the packages got to be too much to carry. 

“What’s left?”  he asked Crowley.

“We’re low on wine, if you’re wanting more.”

“Yes, of course.  Thank you, my dear, I had forgotten.”  He squeezed his lover’s hand in appreciation. 

They strolled a ways to a lovely off-the-beaten-path wine shop Aziraphale adored.  With an interest that almost rivaled the one he had for his beloved books, the angel began browsing the offerings.  Crowley, knowing less about wine than him, sauntered along beside, happy to see Aziraphale in his element rather than looking as haunted as he did last night.

They moved slowly through the aisles hand in hand until Aziraphale carefully chose several bottles of expensive wine to take back to the flat, requiring his arms to juggle his choices.  He showed a particularly fine red to Crowley who took it from his hands before he dropped it, given the number of bottles he was already holding.

“This for tonight?”

“Sure, why not, angel?  I trust your judgement.  Now put those down and go get a basket before you drop anything.  I’m going to be so humiliated if you break wine bottles here in the shop in front of everyone.  Please don’t embarrass me.  I’m on quite an embarrassment-free streak.  I think the last time I was actually mortified was around 1857.”

Aziraphale hurried off to find one leaving Crowley to guard their purchases, which he placed carefully on the shelf beside them.  As he passed by a couple of young women who looked to be in their early twenties perusing a selection of whites down the aisle, one of them looked up at him curiously, then at Crowley.  Crowley nodded acknowledgement at them, wondering what they did to get the young woman’s attention.

Aziraphale returned with a basket and was loading up their future purchases into it when the young lady decided to approach them, leaving her friend to mull over bottles of Riesling.  Crowley eyed her a bit suspiciously before elbowing Aziraphale who turned to look at her.

She smiled at him.  “Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes blinked a moment in astonishment then resolved into a look of recognition.  “Lily, what a nice surprise.  Fancy seeing you here.  It’s been about a year since you last stopped in, hasn’t it?  And for the last time, call me Ezra.  No need for such formalities.”

“Yes, it has.  I’ll never forget what you did for me, Ezra.”

“Oh, it’s nothing any Good Samaritan wouldn’t do, my dear girl.”  Aziraphale looked over at Crowley.  “Where are my manners?  This is Anthony Crowley, a dear friend of mine.”

Neither one of them was sure what to call their relationship, therefore; “dear friend” seemed to be a good choice in Aziraphale’s mind.  Crowley didn’t seem to mind, either.

“Lily Collins, just call me Lily.  Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley.  That lovely girl over there is my partner Sarah Taylor. You’ll have to excuse her.  She’s extremely shy.”  The other woman gave an embarrassed wave. 

“Just call me Crowley.  Everyone does,” he replied, muttering more to himself than anyone else, “Never did get used to Anthony.”

“Lily had a spot of trouble I helped her get out of a couple of years ago.”

“Oh?” Crowley’s interest was piqued.

Lily nodded.  “I was being harassed by several guys.  One of them tried to pick me up in a cafe and I told them I wasn’t interested because I was lesbian.  They proceeded to follow me around Soho telling me the only reason I liked women was because I hadn’t met the right guy and other, nastier things.  I was so scared I was going to be assaulted, to be honest.”

She paused a moment with a shudder before taking a deep breath and starting her story up again.  “But Ezra was out watering his window boxes when I walked past his shop and told the guys to leave me alone.  It didn’t take much.  They just listened to him before leaving, thank God.”

Crowley just said, “I’m sure it didn’t take much at all.  He can be persuasive.”  He grabbed and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. 

 _A little mental persuasion huh, angel?_ he teasingly thought in Aziraphale’s direction.

  _Oh hush.  She was frightened, the poor thing._

Lily noticed and smiled a little at the gesture, understanding now the meaning of “dear friend.”

 “I invited her in for a bit just to make sure those men didn’t decide to come back.  We had a very lovely discussion about “The Epic of Gilgamesh ,” didn’t we?”

“Ezra has such knowledge of it.  He really helped me out with my understanding of it for my class.  I was so afraid I was going to do poorly.”

“Yes,” said Crowley dryly.  “You’d almost think he was around to hear the oral traditions of such literature.”

_That wasn’t necessary._

_Sorry.  Couldn’t resist._

“You inspired me, you know.  A few weeks after that incident, I began volunteering with an LGBT-plus advocacy group.  I’ve done everything from comfort LBGT-plus people who have been harassed, to lobby for our rights.  It feels good to give back, I’ve found out,” she said with a blush. 

Aziraphale congratulated her on her activism.  “I hope you continue it for years to come.  You can never do too much good in this silly, old world of ours.”

They had a few more pleasant minutes of chit chat before the young woman excused herself to get back to her partner, who was starting to look bored with waiting over by herself, but too socially anxious to join in the conversation.

“I’ll ring you the next time we’re in town.  We can catch up over lunch,” the angel promised.

“It was nice running in to you again, Ezra.  Great to meet you, Crowley,” she called as she headed back to her shy girlfriend.

 Aziraphale was visibly brightened by the whole experience as he paid for the wine and they wandered out of the store onto the pavement lit spectacularly by the now-setting sun.

“There’s your good,” commented Crowley, taking the bag from Aziraphale.

“What?”

“You were looking for good last night.  There you go – the good of humanity.  You did a nice deed for her.  Hell, you probably kept her from being assaulted by those men.  Then she passes it on by volunteering for a gay advocacy group,” explained Crowley in a rare show of empathy.  “There’s always going to be bad apples, but it’s fewer than you think right now, angel.  They just seem to be noisier lately.   I also promise we’ll make it out of this latest upheaval in society alive and better off for it.  We really don’t have any other choice.  Keep up the good fight.  They won’t disappoint you, angel.  Ineffability and all that as you tell me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shone brightly as he gave Crowley a small smile.  “You’re right.  But . . .   _We_ fight for them while they go on to fight for themselves.  I know you don’t do it just because it’s subversive in some ways, you sly serpent.  You do it because you have a spark of goodness in you.”

“Ok!  All right!  But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go passing that around.  My reputation is shaky enough as it is.  Let’s get back to the Bentley and head to the flat.  I’ll even cook us dinner if I’m feeling nice enough.”

He reached out for Aziraphale’s hand, lacing his fingers with the angel’s then bringing his hand up to his lips for a quick kiss.  Aziraphale, in a swift, spontaneous motion, went one step further, pulling Crowley in for a long, loving kiss right there for passersby to view.  Crowley really didn’t mind the impromptu display of public affection at all, especially since it was an extremely good sign Aziraphale was returning to believing in humanity’s goodness. 

Together they walked hand in hand off towards the bookshop, the setting sun turning Crowley’s hair an intense, blazing red and Aziraphale’s a bright, golden blond.  Two immortal beings still trying to make sense of this ever-changing, human-driven world they loved, for better or worse.  If one looked closely, one could nearly see the horns and the halo.


End file.
